Homeport

errands I had to run. I hope you made yourself at home while I was out.”
    “I’m leaving. I must have been temporarily insane when I thought we could work together.”

    He waited until she was at the base of the stairs. “ The Dark Lady is being held in a storeroom at the Bargello until it can be decided where she came from, and who cast her.”
    She stopped, as he’d known she would, and turned slowly back. “How do you know?”
    “It’s my business to know. Now, with or without you, I’m going to Italy and liberating her. I can, with little trouble, find another archeometrist, and will eventually figure out just what happened and why. You walk out, you’re all the way out.”
    “You’ll never get it out of the Bargello.”
    “Oh yes.” His smile was quick and wolfish. “I will. You can have a pass at her once I do, or you can run along back to Maine and wait for your parents to decide you’re not grounded anymore.”
    She let the last comment pass. She supposed it was close enough to the truth. “How will you get it out?”
    “That’s my problem.”
    “If I’m going to agree with this moronic plan, I have to have details.”
    “I’ll fill you in on what you need to know as we go along. That’s the deal. In or out, Dr. Jones. Time’s wasting.”
    It was here, she realized, where she crossed the line, passed the point of no return. He was watching her, waiting, with just enough arrogance in his eyes to scrape at her pride.
    “If you manage to perform a miracle and actually get inside the Bargello, you take nothing but the bronze. It isn’t a shopping spree.”
    “Agreed.”
    “If we do end up in possession of the bronze, I’m in full charge of it.”
    “You’re the scientist,” he added with a smile. She was welcome to the copy, he thought. He wanted the original. “That’s the deal,” he repeated. “In or out?”
    “In.” Her breath exploded out. “God help me.”
    “Good. Now.” He opened the briefcase, tossed items onto the table. “These are for you.”

    She picked up the dark blue book. “This isn’t my passport.”
    “It is now.”
    “This isn’t my name—how did you get this picture?” She stared down at the image of herself. “This is the photo in my passport.”
    “Exactly.”
    “No, my passport. And my driver’s license,” she continued, snatching it up. “You stole my wallet.”
    “Borrowed certain items in your wallet,” he corrected.
    She vibrated. There was no other word for it. “You came in my room while I was sleeping and took my things.”
    “You were restless,” he remembered. “Lots of tossing and turning. Maybe you should try meditation to release some of that tension.”
    “That’s despicable.”
    “No, it was necessary. It would have been despicable if I’d climbed into bed with you. Fun, but despicable.”
    She drew air in through her nose, looked down it. “What have you done with my proper identification?”
    “It’s safe. You won’t need it until we get back. Just playing it on the side of caution, darling. If the cops are snooping around, better that they don’t know you’ve left the country.”
    She tossed the passport down again. “I’m not Abigail O’Connell.”
    “Mrs. Abigail O’Connell—we’re on our second honeymoon. And I think I’ll call you Abby. It’s friendly.”
    “I’m not pretending I’m married to you. I’d rather be married to a sociopath.”
    She was green, after all, he reminded himself. A little patience was in order. “Miranda, we’re traveling together. We’ll share a hotel suite. A married couple isn’t going to raise eyebrows or cause questions to be asked. All this does is keep things simple. For the next several days, I’m Kevin O’Connell, your devoted spouse. I’m a stockbroker, you’re in advertising. We’ve been married for five years, live on the Upper West Side, and we’re considering starting a family.”

    “So now we’re Yuppies.”
    “No one uses that term anymore, but basically yes. I got you a couple of credit cards there.”
    She glanced down at the table. “How did you get this identification?”
    “Contacts,” he said easily.
    She imagined him in a dark, smelly room with an enormous man with a snake tattoo and bad breath who sold forged IDs and assault weapons.
    It was nowhere close to the split-level town house in New Rochelle where Ryan’s accountant cousin—second, once removed—created documents in his basement.
    “It’s illegal to enter